A Hutt's Idea of Fun
by MissFire
Summary: UPDATED! What happens when everyone’s favorite gangster decides to put his employees to the “Ultimate Test”? Find out with a cast including: Han Solo, Boba Fett, Dengar, Bossk, Dash Rendar, Lando Calrissian and more!
1. A Stay at Club Jabba!

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars...obviously...Or the prequels would have been _so _different that they would be unrecognizable, believe me!

Author's Note: Takes place before A New Hope...I'm trying to do something a little complicated, so I hope that all of my Star Wars history is straight in my head, and I won't be writing something when those characters should be doing something else, you know what I mean? If there are inconsistencies with this and the actual timeline, I'd love to hear about it. Enjoy...read'n'review is always welcomed!

**Chapter I: A Stay at Club Jabba!**

Han Solo _hated_ Jabba's palace.

There was not one thing that the young man could think of that was even close to redeeming the place. It was hot and dirty, it smelled and the riffraff that frequented the Hutt's desert palace was lower than the dirt that laid beyond the palace's enclosing wall. If he wanted to find a dirty, smelly low-life kind of dive, Nar Shadda was the place to be. At least there were friends to be found there.

_Not like here_, Han thought sullenly, looking around the throne room where he waited to see the Huttese crimelord. A lot of local criminals, a lot of bounty-hunters, but smugglers? They tended to keep away from the Hutt's palace, opting to deal with go-betweens than actually meet the crimelord on his Tattooine turf.

Which Han could not blame them in the slightest for their caution. But the Hutt had insisted that his favorite smuggler – Han held the title proudly for it garnered him more credits – come to his palace, and being the good employee that he was, Han came – only after he had been offered five-thousand credits up-front for doing so.

And there he was, slouched against a wall in the throne room, waiting for the Hutt to notice him and get his business done with. Chewbacca stood beside him, the Wookiee curling his lips at any of the minor bounty hunters who cast an eye in their direction. _All of these hunters think they're Boba Fett these days,_ Han shook his head, his hand settling on his blaster at his thigh. Chewbacca roared, baring his magnificent set of fangs at one hunter, who, upon noticing Han's readiness and the impressive teeth of his Wookiee friend, opted to look away. _Someone _really_ ought to put them in their place_.

That wasn't really his job, though. Han shifted his stance impatiently, wondering when – _Or if_, he thought gloomily– Jabba was going to get to him today. The Hutt was sitting on his dais – it was _all_ he could do, after all – smoking his hookah and watching yet another dancing girl, a human this time. She was pretty, of course – few of Jabba's slave girls _weren't _pretty. With dark eyes and elegant features, she had long, dark hair that slipped and slithered along her frame as she swayed to the music.

The song was ending and Han was glad. Listening to Jabba's in-house band was only so entertaining, after all. As the song climaxed to a blare of a trumpeting horn, the dancing girl bowed low to the ground, prostrating herself before the Hutt.

Jabba seemed pleased. It was hard to tell. But the girl got to live, and Han supposed that that was enough praise.

Again, he looked around the throne room, hoping that the scenery had changed somewhat. And that was when he noticed _him_:

Boba Fett.

Han's surly-looking frown became etched a little deeper, when he saw the notorious hunter. He wasn't exactly sure how the animosity between himself and Fett had began, but he was certain the fabled rivalry existed. He had only thwarted Fett once and even then, that had been with Lando Calrissian's assistance. But he knew that when he peered into that cold and helmeted, razor-bladed gaze, that the hate seething from the masked man was more than Han felt was warranted.

Chewie whuffled a question.

"No," Han said loudly, "I'm not looking at _him_."

The Wookiee snorted imperiously.

"And I'm not trying to start a fight!" Han looked up at his companion with an indignant scowl; Chewie was always acting like his nanny or some similar nonsense. "Besides, he's the one looking at _me_!"

Both turned to gaze at the hunter who was clearly studying the other side of the room.

Chewie's hooting laugh was _damn_ annoying, Han soon decided.

& & & &

With more nervousness than he'd care to admit, Han noticed that the throne room was being crowded with more and more bounty-hunters. Seeing Boba Fett was shock enough, but now he was anxiously keeping a tally of the other visitors to the Hutt's desert abode.

Swallowing the dregs of yet another mug of lum, he pushed his hand through his hair, rumpling it. Rumbling with soft laughter, Chewbacca reached over to smooth his hair down, but Han slapped his hand away irritably. How much longer was Jabba going to keep him waiting? And with all of these bounty hunters around?

A thought that at once frightened and flattered him flashed quickly through his mind. What if Jabba was gathering all of his bounty hunters to have one giant contest, a contest to see who could catch the, as yet, uncatchable Han Solo? He posed the question to Chewie, and the Wookiee answered with a whine.

"I know he likes me, but maybe," Han paused to think. "Maybe he wants to weed out the ranks of his bounty hunters or something. You know, clean house."

Chewie shook his head and growled an interrogative.

"I guess he wouldn't ask me to come here first." Han sat back in his seat, confused. Staring blankly at the grimy tabletop, his mind chased a thousand and one reasons for this unofficial meeting of the Bounty Hunters Guild – never mind that not all of them were members. He sat up suddenly, the answer striking him. "He wants them to test them! They can chase me, but they can't _kill_ me." He leaned back again, relieved, and summoned for another mug.

The answer by no means satisfied Han, and he did not, in all actuality, believe it for a second – though a tiny part of him did. But by having an answer, it just allowed him to ease up the tension that was strangling him, drying his mouth and pumping too much adrenaline into his blood to keep still. He didn't like to think of himself as an antsy, ninny sort of personality, but these bounty-hunters were nerve-wracking.

And he _did_ have a pretty handsome price on his head, thanks to the Besadii.

But since Jabba's Desilijic clan was a bitter rival to the Besadii, Han was all the more welcomed by the Hutt gangster.

And he hoped that meant "_Hands off_" as far as those bounty-hunters were concerned.

& & & &

More and more hunters were entering the throne room. And Han was losing more and more of his sense of security.

Bossk's entrance into the room was hardly the high point of Han's evening. The Trandoshan hunter was shown into the room by Jabba's Twi'lek majordomo. He paused at the entrance to the room, his nostrils flaring as he rapidly sampled the dry air. With a ferocity that he made no attempt to conceal, his gaze snapped toward Han and Chewie's direction. He stomped over to them, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, and stopped dramatically in front of the pair.

And then he said nothing. He just glared through them.

_Idiot. As though he's too good to meet _me _eye-to-eye_. Try as he might, Han couldn't stop a sneer from twisting his lip. "Did you actually have a plan when you decided to walk over here, buddy?" he posed the question mockingly, glaring at the Trandoshan from under his brow. "Or did you just want to make it up as you go?" Han stood slowly, and he saw that Chewie was doing the same. Carefully, his hand settled on the grip of his blaster and his gaze held Bossk's.

Or maybe it didn't. Still looking as though he were staring through Han, Bossk growled in that snarling language of his something to the effect of:

"You had better hope that Jabba does not pit _me_ against you."

He also added an incoherent growl for good measure.

Han wasn't sure why Jabba would pit Bossk, a hunter, against himself, a _smuggler_, but he answered with what he felt was a sizeable retort, saying, "Yeah, damn straight."

Bossk's eyes widened, and he blinked. Hard. Once his confused gaze cleared, he stared at Han as though seeing him for the first time. He spat some snarling curse in Han's direction, before weaving through the crowd, displacing bodies as he shouldered his way through, as if he owned the place or something.

"What the hell?" Han turned to Chewie, bewildered. "I didn't think my comeback was _that_ crazy."

Chewie shrugged indifferently. The furball was probably just glad that Bossk had gone away; it wasn't as though Trandoshans and Wookiees were bosom buddies, after all. Trandoshans were common among the slavers that were commonly assaulting the Wookiee populations on Kashyyk, and there was no love lost between the two species.

"The problem is that _you're_ that crazy. He was addressing me."

Han spun around sharply, hand flying once again to his blaster. Upon seeing who had said the remark, however, he instantly regretted it.

Boba Fett's gaze lowered almost imperceptibly as he watched Han's hand stop just before touching the steel grip of his weapon. "Perhaps not _completely_ crazy," he said, his flat voice just barely reaching "amused", and even then, only slightly.

"Where do you get off?" Han blurted before he could repress the indignant inquiry. It was against his better judgment to engage Fett in conversation, but he couldn't help himself.

Fett stared silently, his gaze sharp enough to sever Han's windpipe.

He began to wish he didn't run his mouth so much.

Clearing his throat, he willed his pounding heart to slow. He was sure that Fett's sensors were picking up his spiked heart-rate, the increased blood flow to his face. He was willing to bet that Fett also had the brains to pick out that all of these were signs of his nervousness – _Don't lie to yourself_, he thought blandly, _You know it's terror. _Slowly, he began to realize that he was just staring rather stupidly into the helmet's T-shaped visor. Since he couldn't bring himself to sit down without looking like an idiot, Han finally asked, "Do you know why Jabba has asked all of these bounty-hunters here?"

Fett just stared. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

"I know you're trying to be intimidating and all," Han said, an inkling of irritation entering his voice. "But all you have to do is say 'yes' or 'no'. Better yet, just nod or shake your head."

He remained silent for a long moment before finally answering, "No."

Han supposed that was as much answer as he would get.


	2. A Hutt's Idea of Fun

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars...I merely try to carve my own niche. Is that so wrong?

A/N: Finally, an update to something other than "Master, May I?"! I'm so happy...

**Chapter II: A Hutt's Idea of Fun **

To Han's increasing relief, he was noticing more...uh, non-bounty-hunter types entering the throne room. Those same non-bounty-hunter types _seemed _to be smugglers, but he couldn't be sure just by looking at them.

Of course, he was responsible enough to know of his competition, but these were guys that he had never seen before. After all, Han ran some pricey cargo, and these guys looked like the only spice-running they had seen was the running from their supplier's hands to their own mouths.

But then, Han could be _incredibly _judgmental.

"Would you look at some of these characters?" he asked Chewie in a low tone.

The Wookiee rolled his expressive blue eyes in response.

Han looked around the throne room once more. Yeah, he decided, the place was definitely filling up. Scowling, his eyes again passed over Boba Fett. The hunter had now taken up residence at the front of the throne room, standing at Jabba's side on the slug's dais. _Brown-noser_, Han seethed, making no attempt to disguise his glare at the other.

"_Of course_ Fett set himself up with the best view in the house," he muttered. From on top of the dais, the hunter could see everything – and everyone, too.

Chewie sniffed scornfully.

The smuggler laughed outright at that particular response. "Yeah, I guess looking at Jabba's slimy hide isn't the _best_ view," he conceded, his gaze skimming over the room again.

He just couldn't keep himself from casing the joint. As the degenerates moved about the central floor, Han followed the traffic flow of the beings there, calculating quick escapes and the best way through the room without attracting too much attention. Even if they _weren't_ bounty-hunters, that didn't mean that they could be trusted.

To say that he was uneasy was putting it lightly.

& & & &

Han fidgeted in his seat, fingering his empty mug on the table. How the hell long were they going to have to wait?

An unexpected diversion presented itself, however, when a young man with reddish-gold hair invited himself to sit with the smuggler. Wearing more armor than Han would be caught in, the young man had seemingly appeared out of thin air, gripping the available chair suddenly and spinning it abruptly so that he could sit in it backward. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, a smile developing on his stubble-studded face. "Solo!" he cried in a conspicuously loud voice. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Rendar?" Han asked, his jaw slack with surprise. He tightened his features quickly though. One could never let Dash Rendar know that he had gotten the drop on him. If he found out, nothing would stop his ego from inflating and suffocating the entire room. _Which Jabba does well enough on his own_, Han thought, inhaling a long breath of the acrid air laced with the odor of Hutt's – and about a hundred other different species' – sweat. Stifling a cough, he extended his hand. "How's life been treating you since you were kicked out?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," the other replied, a hint of wariness flickering through his gaze as he gripped the proffered hand. His features soon adapted the former cheeriness though, and he offered a charming smile. "It seems you've made quite a reputation for yourself that even your Imperial records can't touch."

Han smiled cautiously in return. "Believe me, I'd much rather be where I'm at." Being kicked out of Imperial service with dishonorable discharge had hardly been the most celebrated moment of his lifetime, but he made it a point to remember the disgrace with a hint of pride. The reason for his discharge had been because he had saved Chewbacca, after all. And though the Wookiee had been an undisputed pain-in-the-ass when Han first had been kicked out, Chewie had proven himself invaluable as a friend and a partner so many times since then.

That didn't stop Han from wondering what might have been, however. He expected the ranks would have opened up easily for him – he had been an especially adept pilot. But the past was the past, and nothing more.

Besides...as it was, life wasn't treating him too badly.

Han shook himself from his reverie. "What about you, Dash? Why are you here?"

A smirk that was somewhere between scornful and amused tugged at the other's mouth. Dash answered, "Isn't it obvious? I'm here because I was offered a job." Turning away briefly, he waved his hand, beckoning a server. "Why does anyone come here?"

"Good point."

"I know." Dash smiled that same smug smile that was entirely familiar to Han.

Han scowled. Rendar could just be so full of himself. "I just hope Jabba gets down to business soon. I don't like hanging around with all of these lowlifes."

Dash's eyes widened in amusement. "That's some big talk, Solo. Since when don't you like running around with your esteemed peers?"

"Esteemed?"

Dash shrugged, his mouth opening in a reply that was quickly stifled. His eyes darting around the room in quick, furtive movements, the young man began looking around.

Han had also noticed the change in atmosphere. It was growing quiet, and quiet typically meant trouble. Dropping a hand casually to his side, he made no other motion. Steadily, he flipped the snap on his blast holster. His eyes flicked once to where Boba Fett was standing, the bounty hunter appearing to be his ever-collected self, a hand draped oh so ready over grip of his blast rifle.

_Jerk_. The thought manifested itself almost instantly in his mind.

Berating Fett, though, became a minuscule occupation when Jabba began to speak. His booming voice reverberated through the throne room. The vibrations of his voice shook his employees to from what passed for head to what passed for toes. Han gritted his teeth. The slug's voice was enough to put anyone on edge.

In his baritone Huttese, Jabba was saying that now that the last of his employees had arrived, he could begin a briefing of the job's description.

Han glared at Dash, who smiled back. Dash had been the last new face that had entered the throne room. Han would know, because he had been studying the degenerates that had been floating in and out of the palace for the last twenty-four Standard hours.

He turned his attention to the Hutt once more.

(This will be the Ultimate Test of Resourcefulness,) Jabba announced, his eyes razor-thin slits. (You will hunt a most sought after and prized possession.)

Han leaned close to Chewie. "If he means spice," he murmured, "I think I might have to shoot him for being a moron."

Chewie nodded his agreement.

(The protection that this object is afforded is the best that the Empire has to offer. It is guarded with no less than human life – although that does not amount to much.)

The aliens in the group tittered with laughter that almost all non-humans shared at their "oppressor's" expense. Ignoring that, Han could feel his eyes widen with surprise at the mention of the Empire. A quick glance at Dash revealed that he too was wondering about Jabba's sanity. To go against the Empire in such an up-front sort of way was akin to committing suicide. No one wanted the Empire's attention...ever.

The Hutt continued, (To test the loyalty and resourcefulness of my employees, however, you will be pursuing this object in teams of three – of my choosing.)

A dull roar of unhappy mutterings rose up from the main floor. _Teams?_ Han thought, feeling his lip twist in disgust. The only team he needed was himself and Chewbacca. There was no need to add anyone else. He and Chewie were fully capable of retrieving...well, whatever it was that the slug wanted.

(The first of the three names announced will be the captain of the team. He will receive the briefing and specs of the object to be returned to me.) The Hutt smiled a most gooey smile, dribble flowing from one corner of his wide mouth. (To garner your reward, all team members must be present when presenting the object. Your payment is forfeit if one of your team members dies in the process of the hunt.)

"Well, I'll be damned," Dash muttered, fidgeting in his seat. "At least he's giving us all of the rules up-front."

Bib Fortuna, Jabba's Twi'lek majordomo, stepped up to the dais and snarled the first of the teams. Han flashed a quick and worried look to Chewbacca. Jabba was matching up the most combustible people he could. Smugglers and bounty hunters working together? It was unheard of. And highly dangerous, too.

Han tapped his finger on the tabletop uncomfortably, listening for his name to be called. He sighed with relief when both Bossk and Dengar, the cyborg hunter with a very _serious_ vendetta against him, were both teamed up with some other name he couldn't hear. He didn't want to be stuck with bounty hunters. He hoped Jabba had a little more common sense than that.

The list of names was long, and the uproar that was caused by the recognition of startled, newly dubbed teammates was more and more evident. And just when Han was beginning to think that, perhaps, he was exempt from all of this team-work idiocy, he heard his name being called.

"Team captain," Bib said, his raspy voice growing hoarse with all the names he had been calling. "Han Solo."

Han grinned boldly, though his heart was pounding. Who would he be paired with? The thought made him anxious, but he disguised the feeling with what he hoped was self-consumed bravado. "Jabba didn't make a mistake about that," he said loudly, looking at Chewie.

Chewie's indifferent curiosity made Han think that the Wookiee was probably just as concerned as he was about the nature of their possible teammates.

"Dash Rendar."

The young man's mouth fell open. "What?" He looked to Han, questioning obstinately, "You rigged this, didn't you?"

Han laughed. "No way! What makes you think Jabba'd listen to me?"

Dash seemed to be skeptical, but he smiled, "I suppose I could be stuck with worse." He offered Han a mock salute, saying, "O Captain, my Captain! I'll be a proud First Mate!"

"Second Mate," the smuggler corrected. Thrusting a thumb at Chewie, he mischievously reminded the other, "The Wookiee here's my First Mate."

Dash finished his sketch of a sloppy salute.

"And Boba Fett."

The room grew as silent as vacuum.

"Wh-what? What'd he say?" Han's voice seemed unnaturally loud. He quickly turned to Chewie. The furball's eyes were wide, the blue tinged with terror. He then snapped his gaze to the hunter, who stood at Jabba's side. Fett hadn't moved. He was still standing silently, but Han could recognize the tension that now laced his stance.

Bib moved on to the last of the dwindling names, speaking loudly to be heard over the rumbling that now consumed the throne room.

Han could already hear the bets being made, as to who would survive the temporary partnership.

Oh _hell_.

* * *

A/N: So were you surprised? Huh? No? Well, humor me anyway. I love both Han Solo and Boba Fett – and their subsequent rivalry – so I _had _to put them on the same team. You understand, right? At any rate, reviews are welcome and hopefully the next chapter will follow more quickly. 


	3. This Is Not In My Job Description

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.

A/N: So…GreatOne pointed out that their team would actually consist of _four_ members. Now, I consider Chewie a vital member of any team, but my reasoning was that Jabba probably didn't even consider Han and Chewie to be separate entities. I mean, Jabba doesn't hire Chewie, he hires _Han_. But anyway…On to this chapter.

**Chapter III: This is _Not_ in my Job Description**

After the throne room had emptied, leaving only a few stragglers, Boba Fett stood before the Hutt crimelord, standing at attention and poised. But his thoughts swirled with an uncharacteristic rage. _A team?_, he thought, infuriated. Irritation chittered at the back of his mind, and if he had been any less professional, it might have distracted him. But as it was, he sharpened his concentration, and he gripped his rifle more tautly.

"Jabba." Fett kept his voice tightly controlled, always professional.

The Hutt, who was now dozing, opened one bulbous eye and snorted rather ungracefully.

Hidden behind his helmet, the hunter's lip twisted in disgust. "I do not work with a team."

Jabba shifted, sitting up straighter – if such was even possible – and, nostrils flaring, he directed his gaze at Fett. He made an interrogative sound, which was very close to a human-like, "Oh?"

Fett remained silent.

(Well, bounty hunter?)

He made Jabba wait a moment longer, before saying, "I will not maintain employment in any job against my will."

The slug was silent, though he took his hookah pipe in his small, shriveled hand, taking a long, dragging breath from it. He exhaled a dingy puff of foul smoke and paused once more before saying, (Then you are rejecting this hunt?)

"I choose my hunts."

(Then you are going to allow Solo all of the glory of finding it?)

Fett stiffened. "I could find it myself."

(That is not your assignment.)

"I'm not one of your lackeys, Jabba. I make my own parameters when I hunt."

(_I_ make the parameters for this job, bounty hunter!) Jabba's voice escalated, as though that would make the point that much clearer to the hunter. Fett maintained his straight-backed stance, gritting his teeth in annoyance. Though his attention was centered on the Hutt, he could see through his 360-view that those that were still in the throne room were perking up with interest in the altercation between the slug and his favorite hunter. _As though making a scene will change my mind_, he thought darkly.

(Then do not accept this job, hunter,) Jabba was rumbling in his arrogance. (I'm sure Solo will manage without you. I expect that he will win, anyway.)

And the dark thoughts that were consuming Fett's mind culminated in one black shadow, that same uncharacteristically strong sense of anger tightening around him.

(Of course, I would be much more pleased if you remained in his team.)

And suddenly, a cold professionalism straightening his posture, Fett finally choked past his anger. With that one statement the slug admitted that he was toying with him. Jabba wanted to see if his two most favorite – arguably, most notorious – pets would play well enough together to accomplish a job without killing each other. The inclusion of Rendar was just extraneous, a formality, a way to play along the prescribed rules of the game the Hutt had set in motion.

Although, the thought commanded his attention briefly, perhaps Jabba was doing more than forcing himself and Solo to work together. _Perhaps the slug is testing_ me, he thought, almost amused. _Pompous fool_. "How much?"

The Hutt laughed, picking up his pipe once again. (That is why I like you, bounty hunter. No matter what, money will motivate you to do anything.)

Fett silently disagreed, but why bring it up? To argue with a being that is convinced that he is right is ineffective, a waste of one's time.

(You will have to ask your team's captain,) Jabba said, still laughing.

His grip on his rifle hardened, and he left the throne room.

& & & &

"Solo."

The smuggler looked up from his mug, caught between grinning and gaping. Rendar looked equally moronic. And Fett was not one for reading a Wookiee's facial expressions. Solo looked as though he still couldn't decide how to greet the hunter, nervousness tingeing his otherwise cocky smile. Fett logged away the instance as another example of Solo's stupidity. "What?" he finally answered.

"The parameters for the job."

"So you're actually going to go through with this?"

He studied Solo before answering, "It's a job."

"Well, I heard that you were complaining about this teamwork thing, and I just thought that you were…uhm –"

Fett allowed himself a smile. It appeared that Solo was wimping out, too afraid to say what he was thinking. _Idiot_. "That I was what?" he asked quietly.

Solo acted as though he hadn't heard him. "What did you come over here for again?"

"The parameters for the job."

"What about them?"

"Do you ever speak in complete sentences?"

The hunter slowly turned to face Rendar. The idiot cringed. A smirk formed on Fett's lips as he noted that he did not even have to say anything to threaten him. It was a typical reaction – but that did not stop him from finding the pleasure in it. He waited for a moment, and then answered Solo, "I do require them if we are to work together."

"Uhh…right." Solo fumbled around, shoving his hand into his vest pockets until he found the folded sheet of flimsiplast. "Here," he said, handing the sheet to Fett.

Fett felt the sneer forming on his lips. "You were not given a data disk of information?"

The smuggler looked up at him, his face a blank. After a moment, his eyes widened with realization, and after once again fumbling with his damned vest pockets, he revealed a small diskette. "I'll need that back."

Fett rolled his eyes. _What a moron_. "Of course." Sliding the disk into a datapad of his own, he perused the document, quickly scanning it.

And quickly determining that the slug was as moronic as those he hired into his employ.

But Fett was always up for a challenge.

"So what do you think?"

Although, typically that challenge was one that he surmounted on his own.

Through gritted teeth, he responded to Solo's question, "I think that this will be a most interesting hunt."

A most interesting hunt, indeed, because Jabba was expecting the retrieval of a prized piece of the Emperor's art collection. Well, if that wasn't thinking of oneself highly…

"So…" Rendar began, "where do we start?"

Fett wanted to knock the smuggler upside the head, but restrained himself. "We have to start accumulating information, of course."

"Okay, so…"

"And that is already done," Fett interrupted, heading off what was likely to be a meandering question that would showcase Solo's ineptitude. After having uploaded the disk's data to _Slave I_'s onboard computer, Holonet searches instantly began for his selected keywords in the document. Data available to his helmet was, of course, updated in a most efficient manner. Operation of his business was conducted with almost no lag time, and with .009 chance of error.

"What?" both Solo and Rendar asked in surprised unison.

The Wookiee growled something unintelligible.

Solo nodded. Perhaps the Wookiee's comment wasn't completely inarticulate. "Yeah, what a show-off," he affirmed the alien's observation. "Then now what, Fett?"

"As I said, a most interesting hunt." Their quarry was a piece of the fabled, hand-blown glass formed by a master craftsman and seer of a small clan of Voors that had populated a little known moon orbiting the planet Vortex. That same clan of Voors had long since been rendered extinct due to one of the Emperor's many "sanctifying" genocides. While being an antique, the piece has also functioned as –

"A what?" Solo sounded incredulous.

"You heard the man," Rendar said flatly. "It's a vase."

"Actually, I said that it is a carafe."

The Wookiee was making noise that Fett could only assume was laughter.

"So…Jabba wants us to steal the Emperor's juice pitcher?" Solo shook his head and crossed his arms obstinately. "Are you sure that's what this is about?"

"Are you doubting my information?"

The smuggler seemed to be taken aback by that, but he plowed ahead in what seemed to be typically Solo behavior. "Well, what makes you so sure that you're right?"

"It is _my_ information."

"Not stuck up at all, is he?" Rendar muttered.

Fett ignored him, saying, "Now I'm going to reach my contacts and find out where the item is currently being held."

"Whoa, wait a parsec here," Solo spoke up. Standing from his seat, he said in his trademark and most obnoxious tone, "I believe _I _am the team captain here. _I'll_ decide what's to be done next."

Fett smirked. "And finding out where the item is being held _isn't_ the next job to be completed on your agenda?"

"Wow," Rendar said, his voice a mixture of awe and admiration. "You actually got him to _emphasize_ some of his words."

The hunter spitted the man, who he was contemplating on referring to as "Idiot #2", with a most vicious glare. The helmet was never a hindrance in this area, as it commonly further stressed the action. Fett even felt a bit of mild surprise when he saw that Solo was also glaring at the moron.

"Well," Idiot #2 was now back-pedaling, "I mean, he wasn't all _uhh_ and monotone-like."

"Of course we need to find out where the thing is," Solo said, turning back to Fett. "But we're going to do it my way."

Fett was almost amused. "Which is?" he asked.

He watched as Solo squirmed under his scrutiny. No answer was offered. "I thought as much," he said. "I'm going back to _Slave I_, where I will be establishing contact with my informants –"

Solo's mouth opened in protest.

"And where I will conduct business that lies in _my_ area of expertise in _my _way." Fett, feeling that the conversation had been effectively concluded, turned away and began the long walk to where his swoop was waiting. His ship was, of course, docked in Mos Eisley. Jabba hardly had the resources to keep his ship under steady maintenance.

"Like hell!" Solo snarled, his hand flying to his blaster sheathed at his thigh.

Fett merely stopped walking, knowing that the action – or lack thereof – would be enough to intimidate even the likes of the smuggler.

Which it did. The hunter was impressed that Solo didn't falter more than he did. A trace of what may have been fear passed over his features, and the path of his weapon as he drew his blaster stumbled only slightly before he finished bringing the piece to bear. But the smuggler quickly recovered, his expression tightening as he said, "If we're hunting this thing together, we're doing it on my ship. There is no way in _hell_ you're going to get me on yours."

Fett choked on a dry laugh. "Your ship hardly has the resources to conclude this hunt successfully."

Solo stepped closer, the gun still in hand.

"You're both wrong. We should totally take my ride."

Both turned to face a very pallid Rendar, whose hand was hovering above his own blaster. Fett knew that his expression must have held a least some amusement, but he noticed that Solo's was a study in bewilderment.

"Yeah frickin' right," he finally said. Lowering his blaster, Solo continued warningly, "Fett, there's no room for negotiation here. We're taking my ship."

"_We_ don't have to do anything," Fett reasoned. "I'll go about the hunt my way, you do so in yours." He was especially warming to the idea when he added, "When I retrieve the item, we can turn it in as a group."

"I don't think that's how Jabba intended this to go."

"His intentions are childish at best," the hunter returned, disgusted. "Besides, his rules did not specify that the teams could not be further broken down into groups."

"Actually they do," Idiot #2 said, pointing at the discarded piece of flimsiplast. Reading from it, he said, "'The teams shall not be further broken down into groups.' The same wording and everything."

"Does it say anything about the number of ships we can use?" Solo asked suspiciously.

"Huh…Yeah, it does. 'One ship is to be used by one team in this hunt, and the number of ships to be used by one team is one.'"

"You are so messing with me, right?" Solo sounded desperate.

"Nope."

Fett sighed, though it was not audible beyond his helmet's filters. Jabba was such a child, such a spoiled, immature…and dumb-ass…child.

"In the spirit of teamwork, then," Fett said, just wanting to get on with this hunt and, more importantly, the impending reward, "I will eke out the duration of this hunt on what passes as your ship." He held up a hand in warning, though, adding, "On the condition that I can upload data from my ship's onboard computers to your own…under password, of course."

Solo nodded mocking, "Oh, of course."

"By saying 'In the spirit of teamwork'," Rendar began slowly. "You mean, 'In order to get the reward', right?"

Fett was silent for a moment before answering with a simple affirmative: "Yes."

The other sighed with relief. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if all of my pre-conceived opinions of you were wrong."

The hunter turned away, wondering vaguely if his intelligence might suffer from this stint of teamwork.

"My whole world was crashing in on me."

Yes…indeed, it might.

* * *

A/N: (laugh) So…I noticed that Fett is a little more verbose than he usually tends to be…but hey, writing from his point-of-view without the dialogue would have been boring! Fett-purists, don't hate me! I love him as much as you do! 


	4. Skeptics

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Wars…The planets have yet to reach the correct alignment.

A/N: FINALLY! Oh geez, I'm so _sorry _for not updating any sooner than this! This last semester was really taxing on me… and I lost all of my creative flow for a really long time. This chapter is kinda short… and I'm going to try _incredibly_ hard to get another chapter up in the next week…

**Chapter IV: Skeptics**

He had expected, of course, that the smugglers would question every part – down to the last minute detail – of his plan, but he had _not_ been prepared for the nature of their skepticism. They had scowled and had turned their lips in disgusted sneers when they had heard his plans for their first destination of inquiry. The smugglers had been brazen with the volume of their insolently cynical remarks. Was not Boba Fett the most seasoned hunter of this ragtag group? Were not _his_ skills and _his _instincts those that were to be held in the most high of esteem?

Of course they were; how could _they_ – lowly smugglers whose only experience with hunting included acting as the prey – doubt his word on the matter?

But, as "smuggler" was a breed of sub-being that rarely allowed genuine thought to pass through the most sensitive parts of his brain's biomachinery, Fett was not offended.

"Alderaan?" Solo said from the pilot's seat, his lip curling with distaste. He turned to Rendar, "He's crazy if he thinks this art piece is going to be there."

"My sanity is hardly your concern," Fett stated dryly, standing in the entrance to the cockpit. "And contrary to your disbelief, if the piece is not available, then information _about_ it is almost certainly there."

"Alderaan _is_ a celebrated art center," Rendar acceded, almost apologetically.

Solo scowled as he punched in the coordinates. "Yeah, and it's also one of the most law-loving nurseries in the Core worlds."

Though Fett only slightly agreed, he would not dare voice it.

Solo was staring at him, an irritated look on his face. The hunter noticed that his hand was hovering over the button for the cockpit seal. "Well, Fett that will be all."

The cockpit sealed just centimeters away from the Fett's helmet.

& & & &

He was summoned to the cockpit later, when the _Falcon _had reverted back to realspace. For the duration of the trip, Boba Fett had opted to change into a disguise. Arriving on Alderaan in his regular attire would not be in his best interests, as the authorities would monitor his movements from his first footfall planetside.

His disguise was fairly simple in comparison to most that he owned. A light gray tunic and a darker gray hooded cape over a dark flight suit completed the ensemble; he was quite sure that the hood provided more than enough ample cover. And body armor – not to mention a multitude of weapons – was cleanly concealed under all of the cloth. It was a time-tested and reliable disguise.

The hunter sighed quietly. He did not like being out of control, not one bit. To sacrifice his command over any given situation was foreign to him, and it left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

Although, he acknowledged the thought briefly, he was not _ever_ truly out of control. And this situation in which he had become an unwilling participant offered a new challenge to him. And challenges had always intrigued the hunter.

Straightening his hood, he entered the cockpit, where he was met with bemused looks. A snort of disbelief escaped the Wookiee. Alderaan was spinning peacefully beyond the viewpoint.

Nothing else was said. No one bothered to question him. Fett liked it that way.

The _Falcon_ was permitted – under false ID – to land in the capital city of Aldera. The local customs officials would have no cause to question the ship or its crew, who were reported to be delivering agricultural machinery. In the hold, there was a single durasteel crate that would qualify as such, anyway.

Walking out of Aldera's spaceport – which was clean and pristine and resembled a library in many, _many_ ways – Solo assumed the lead. When the idiot realized that he did not know where he was going, he turned to Fett and opened his mouth.

Fett quickly took the lead. He paused before answering Solo's silent question. "I have a contact that owns an art gallery," he explained.

"You must have found the shadiest character Alderaan has to offer," Rendar muttered.

"He's a businessman. He understands that not all… lucrative dealings can be made through the proper channels."

"So what's he got to do with you?" Solo sounded skeptical. "It's not as though you deal in art, _Fett_."

He didn't answer. Why bother?

Rendar tried to suppress a snicker – and failed miserably. "He might not _deal_ in art, but maybe he's an art _lover_."

This vein ran its course between the two idiots, who, after exhausting the subject, concluded that Fett must, in his time off, go to art galleries and sip stim-tea and converse in a very soft voice about the emotional implications of Gamorrean art.

Boba Fett decided that he hated them.


	5. Tricky MissInformation

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars… and if I did, it appears that I would be a very neglectful owner, indeed.

A/N: Okay… so, TWO weeks later! Geez… Thank you for the encouraging reviews! They gave me a reason to remain faithful! To you! (smile) Anyway, here's the next chapter – a longer one, too!

**Chapter V: Tricky MissInformation**

Fett led the group to the local transport center, and after a short tram ride, they reached the art gallery. It was a stylish – which is to say, _exclusive_ – sort of place, very well-managed. And nothing looked like it had cost less than five hundred credits. Posters and flags lined the walkways of the area, proclaiming the group's entrance into the "Galaxy-Renowned Alderaanian Arts District."

"Seems a little redundant," Solo commented, tugging at the stiff collar of one of his better jackets. "The whole city is an art district."

Prior to leaving the ship, Rendar and Solo had followed Fett's lead and had changed into clothing that, at least, appeared presentable. Clean clothes just happened to be in season on Alderaan. Fancy that.

The Wookiee was left with the ship. For that much, Fett was glad. They didn't need a hairy billboard announcing their unique presence to the world.

The hunter paused before entering the gallery. "I will deal with my contact as I see fit," he warned. "You need not follow any further."

"Like hell," Solo scowled. Thrusting a finger at the storefront – wide panels of shimmering glass – he sneered, the expression distorting in his reflection, "We have just as much right to go into this place as you do."

"I'd prefer that you didn't know with whom I keep business."

"Well, it's just too bad that _we _are doing the business deals this time around, isn't it?" Solo barged into the gallery without another word.

Rendar flicked a nervous look in Fett's direction before following suit.

After entering, the hunter noticed Solo walking around the exhibits in a stupor, probably gaping at the asking price for many of the pieces. This particular gallery actually had the physical art pieces in the store, another sign of its wealthier clientele.

A door slid open at the back of the showroom, and from it, a woman entered. A form-fitting dress, slinky and with a long slit, encased her lithe form. Her dark hair fell across mischievous eyes. She favored the trio with a slight smirk, but it widened into a grin when she recognized Fett.

"Jaeger," she greeted him.

"Amaya."

Rendar and Solo stared open-mouthed. "I thought you said it was a guy," Rendar whispered.

"I do try to protect my contacts' identities," Fett answered.

"I'm so glad that you came to visit me," she said while leading him to a desk. As she took her own seat, the woman gestured for him to make himself comfortable. On the desktop, she lightly tapped a small button. The front doors locked, and the lights of the display windows darkened.

At the change in atmosphere, Solo reached for his concealed blaster within his coat. With raised eyebrows, she said, amused, "For discretionary purposes only, sir."

Fett glared at Solo until the smuggler stood down.

"You requested information?" Amaya asked. A smirk found its way to her face once more. Fett hated when she smirked; it often meant that he was going to be paying far more than what the information was worth. "About Voorish glass?"

Feeling a scowl cross his face, Fett crossed his arms. Damn. She was being playful. Whatever she had to share was going to sting. "You know I mentioned that the piece was more notable than that."

"Ah, right," she answered. He heard Solo and Rendar muttering as she settled back into her seat. "You mean the piece from the Emperor's collection."

He stared without comment.

For an instant, she appeared to be hurt. "Ah Jaeger, you're usually more well-mannered than this."

He heard Solo snort from behind him.

With a sigh, she continued, "Well, what payment did you bring me this time?"

"A real find." He reached deep into the pocket of his tunic. He paused before pulling out the item. "You're going to fall in love with me for this."

She laughed, slapping the desktop in an effort to hurry the revelation of this prize. Rendar and Solo appeared to be shocked.

He set an older model of blaster on the desk. Instead of the matte black that was the fashion among modern blasters, it was composed of a silvery metal. Its handle was ornate, carved with an intertwining, almost delicate pattern.

"Hey!" Solo cried. "That's –"

"That's a BlasTech AF-11!" Amaya interrupted, standing. "One of their earliest models! Oh, I think I might have to give you a line of credit for this!" She winked, "On top of the love I owe you, I mean."

"Th-that," Solo was still fumbling for words. He watched as the woman hugged the weapon fiercely, still cooing over it. "Well… it _was_ mine." Glaring, he turned to Fett. "You _so_ owe me."

"I found the contact, didn't I? Besides, you should have better locks on your shipboard lockers," the hunter answered, quietly. Amaya was still rejoicing over the rare weapon. Over her squeals, he retreated to what she had been saying; he was not one to be sidetracked. "A line of credit? This is worth more than your info for me?"

She nodded with a peal of laughter. Reaching into one of the desk's drawers, she pulled out a flimsiplast. She handed it to the trio, still trembling with excitement. "Do you know how much this will go for?" she cried, cradling the blaster.

The trio stared dumbfounded at the flimsy. It was a press release from the Imperial Board of the Arts. Announcing that pieces of the Emperor's private art collection were on tour. A very public, very _well-advertised_ tour.

"Well, where the hell was that in your research?" Solo scoffed. Rendar was practically on the floor, he was laughing so much.

& & & &

Exiting the store, the hunter's mind raced. How could such a mistake have been made? How could he have been so careless?

Fett growled low in his throat. Especially in front of Solo, that bastard! Dark thoughts once again swirled in his mind, and he gripped the flimsy tightly. He wanted to tear not only the flimsy into tiny bits, but also the smugglers. He knew, however, that he would not receive the reward if he did so, as tempting as it was.

He sighed. The thoughts of the prize brought a cold rationality with them. Besides, if there was one thing that was a constant about the smuggler, it was that any contact with him rained more bad luck on Fett than he felt was warranted.

Studying the flimsy more carefully, he led the group away from the shop. There must have been something that he had missed. Perhaps it was not as advertised as he had thought.

It wasn't. The press release was specific to Alderaan. Outside news sources had not picked up the story.

Damn her straight to hell.

& & & &

The art was being displayed in one of the Royal House's ballrooms. Upon further inspection of the flimsy, it appeared that there was to be a gala of some sort, a public viewing scheduled for the next evening.

How public the affair would actually be was somewhat of a joke. Only the first hour of the viewing was open to the public. After that, the royalty and dignitaries of the planet would have control of the room for the rest of the night.

"So, now that your contact has provided us with _public_ information, what do we do?" Solo's voice was more than a bit smug.

Fett gritted his teeth in irritation. "While you were enjoying your laugh," he growled, "I… _encouraged_ her to provide me the item's specs and a reliable artist."

Rendar seemed confused. Of course. "You mean you're going to have it replicated?"

"Yes."

Solo smirked. "So you got a plan then, oh Great Hunter?"

Jaw clenched. "Yes."


End file.
